Drag Queens

 

(The Roman Catholic Church is filled with sodomites.)

Yesterday, I woke up at 8 a.m. and drank a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Then I read the headlines on my smartphone while taking a nasty shit. A woman in her 40s from Cheongju recently got released from prison. She had served a two-year bit for fraud, and she was angry because of her sentence. So she called the local courthouse and told the powers-that-be that she had planted a bomb in the building. It turns out that the lady was lying, but Big Brother took no mercy. She will now have to spend another two years in the joint for her crime. Many people simply have no self-control.

I ate a waffle for breakfast as I surfed the internet. The Los Angeles Dodgers held a day at the ballpark to celebrate the sodomites. They invited a group of drag queens dressed as nuns to strut their stuff right on the field. The nuns were then booed by a sparse crowd in the stands. Many Catholics were outside protesting the festival, and they were even blocking the entrances to Dodger Stadium. But this is what strikes me as weird. The Roman church is loaded to the gills with homosexuals and pedophiles. So what’s the fucking difference? In fact, the protestors should feel right at home. After all, they worship a man who wears a fancy gown, a funny hat, and ruby slippers.

I called my mother using Facebook Messenger. It was Nurse Ken who answered.

I said, “What’s up, boy?”

He said, “I can’t talk now.”

“But it’s Father’s Day.”

“No, it isn’t. Father’s Day is tomorrow.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. It’s Sunday over here.”

“I’ve got to go. The bath water is running.” He paused for a moment. “Ask Granny about the gas.”

“What about the gas?”

“She left the stove on, and the fire died out. You should have smelled this place. We’re all lucky that we weren’t blown to pieces.”

After getting that off his chest, he handed the phone to my mother.

I said, “Did you leave the gas on?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t do it on purpose. It was just an accident.”

I sighed heavily. “Well, you will have to be careful in the future. You could have died from asphyxiation. That’s how Sylvia Plath met her untimely end.”

“Who’s Sylvia Plath?”

“She was a crazy writer who gassed herself to death. Her little ones were in their rooms when this tragedy occurred. They’re very lucky that they didn’t die, too.”

“Why did she do it?”

“Her husband Ted Hughes was having an affair.”

She frowned. “Dirty bastard.”

“You’re right. Ted was a dirty bastard. But I would say that Sylvia’s response was a bit of an overreaction.”

Mom changed the subject. “How’s Rice-Boy Larry?”

I popped a piece of nicotine gun into my mouth and talked between chews. “I haven’t seen him in a while. He stayed at his friend’s house last night. There was a group of them watching the soccer match between Korea and Peru.”

“I thought he didn’t like sports.”

“He doesn’t. It was more of a social thing.”

She took a sip of coffee. “Is Korea any good?”

“No. Their team sucks big ass. But I heard that all the players are good at math.”

She laughed and laughed.

I spent the rest of the day watching Netflix. I’m enjoying Vikings for the millionth time. It never fails to entertain me. If you haven’t seen it, then give it a try.

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